


Almost a Towhead

by Auzzie



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auzzie/pseuds/Auzzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta decided to make a change. Truth be told, he didn't want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost a Towhead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shwarya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shwarya/gifts).



> I acknowledge that this may be OOC. I hope it's not, but such is the life of fanfiction writing.

Finnick was breathing in the powder-sweet scent of Russian tea cakes when Peeta's oldest brother ambled through the side door. Leaven Mellark walked with his hips forward, hands fisted into his pockets, and his apron tied loose about him.

Truly, the Mellark children were like the incarnation of a relaxation scale. Leaven was the loosest screw of the three, and Weck, the youngest, was wound tighter than a snare drum. Peeta was the middle ground.

Leaven smirked at Finnick as he rounded the baked goods display. He tapped away at the cash register and asked around the toothpick pricking from his lips, "Lookin' for somethin' to satisfy your sweet-tooth, Finny?"

"Yeah, actually. Where do you think I can find your brother?" Finnick asked with a self-satisfied smile.

"Save the charm for Peeta, Fin. It ain't doin' nothin' for me." Leaven said. "In fact, you need all the charm you can get with that one, and then some. He's the most perceptive person I know but when it comes to you he's obtuse."

"Those are five-dollar words for you, Leaven."

Leaven motioned for Finnick to step aside and waved forward the customer who was waiting behind him. "Afternoon, ma'am. What can I get for ya?" Leaven tapped on the counter in front of Finnick to draw his attention, as though he'd lost it. Finnick was intent on finding Peeta. "He's in the bathroom workin' on somethin'. Could probably use your help, too. Or, you know, you could stop him."

Finnick shot him a question of a look, but didn't get an answer. He slipped into the main house, which was attached to the bakery, with the question abandoned in the curve of his tongue.

He tossed his jacket over the loveseat as he passed the reading room, and tugged off his boots by the front door. He was careful not to make too much noise until he was with Peeta, lest he find himself alone with the grumpy Mellark matriarch. She was never pleased to see him. Then again, she was never pleased to see anybody.

He crept to the hall bathroom, and knocked.

The door was cracked already, but Peeta reached out his heel and nudged it open further as he rummaged through the mirror cabinet. "Leaven, did you actually hide it? You said-" Peeta trailed off as he shut the cabinet and met Finnick's eyes in the reflection. "Hey."

"Hide what?"

Peeta's cheeks dusted pink and he swooped down to look under the sink. "I thought I'd try something different, so I got..." He pushed bottles aside and had to reach so far back that he ducked his head into the cupboard. Finnick squatted down beside him and watched the pink tint to Peeta's neck dip behind his t-shirt. He smiled at his boyfriend's back.

Eventually, without knocking his skull into a pipe or plank, Peeta was out of the cupboard with a small box in his hand. "I got this," he said.

Finnick frowned down at the box of hair dye. Black hair dye.

"Why?"

Peeta straightened up and looked himself in the mirror. "I want to try something different," he repeated.

With a hum, Finnick turned around to lean against the sink and look Peeta in the face. He watched as Peeta glanced his way, then down at the box. He had set it on the counter and didn't touch it again, which Finnick took as a warning sign.

"You could try a different deodorant if you want to make a change."

"Do I stink?"

Finnick snorted at the idea. Peeta smelled about as bad as his decorated cakes look. Which is to say: quite the opposite.

Peeta swallowed and squared his jaw. Finnick couldn't help but swallow, too.

"I wanted to make an impression," Peeta admitted slowly.

Watching Peeta sink into silence as he stared at the dye, Finnick was tempted to push it into the trash if only so Peeta wouldn't look so resigned to a rotten fate. Instead he chuckled and swept up the box to pull out the supplies.

"You're sure about this?"

Peeta just watched Finnick's hands and nodded.

It wasn't difficult to talk him into letting Finnick do the work. He sat on the edge of the tub and closed his eyes and only opened them when he had to. For his part, Finnick took his leisurely time playing with Peeta's hair.

Peeta was malleable. He kept silent in the beginning, even flinched with the drizzle of liquid on his scalp, but soon enough he sighed out his simple comfort. Finnick's answering hum was almost lost to the squawk of the rubber gloves, but it was not missed. In fact, Peeta relaxed further at the sound.

Come the final scrub, Finnick was sure to put all his attention on the glide of his fingers, and the press of Peeta's hips against his thighs.

At last, Finnick took the detached shower head to Peeta's hair and dragged his fingers through it. The silk feeling, wet and conditioned, entranced him up until Peeta said, "You can do that any time, you know."

There was an upset husk to his voice that made Finnick shut off the water and take a ratty towel to Peeta's hair. He already knew he could fiddle with Peeta's hair whenever-Peeta would always allow such touches-so he didn't feel too much loss. And that's not to mention that the sooner they finished this, the better Peeta would feel.

But Finnick couldn't resist one more indulgence. He draped the towel over his shoulder and gently tugged Peeta to rest against him. He massaged the other boy's scalp and murmured into his ear, "You could be bald and you still would have made an impression on me."

"Could've told me that sooner," he heard Peeta say from the nape of Finnick's neck.

Finnick gathered Peeta's waist as he reached across the way to snatch up the hand mirror on the sink.

Peeta took a deep breath and turned to the reflection.

Finnick was grinning, he noticed immediately, so used to seeking out that face. Up against Finnick's shoulder lay his own head, pale and taught and surprisingly, distinctly, blessedly unchanged.

_Still almost a towhead,_  Peeta thought. Then it hit him.

His head snapped forward, almost clipping Finnick's chin, and he reached for the mirror. "What-?"

"You looked like you'd rather tell your mom about us than follow through with this idea of yours," Finnick said. "So I took some liberties."

Peeta blinked. Peeta grinned. Peeta brushed his fingers across his blonde fringe.

"Thanks for washing my hair, then."

Finnick pressed a kiss to the side of Peeta's nose. "My pleasure."


End file.
